In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4)

by Cynthia Wicklund

  At once she heard movement in the room. James was shaving his face at the washbasin.

  “James?”

  He looked over his shoulder then turned around, straight-edge razor in one hand. “You’re awake. Good morning, love.”

  “You’re up early,” she said.

  “Not so early, actually.”

  Amanda glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel, but it was still stalled at the time of her father’s death. She sighed. “What time is it?”

  “Half passed eight.”

  “Today that is early. Are you going somewhere?”

  James finished a final couple of swipes on his chin with the razor before answering. He reached for a damp cloth on the basin, cleaning the shaving soap from his face as he moved toward the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress.

  “I have an appointment with Derrick.”

  Amanda sat up. “Oh, James, do you think that wise? Derrick is unbalanced, I think.”

  “What can he do when all is said and done? Truth is, this is not only about him and me—or even you, for that matter. I want to protect Aunt Henry. I’ve had enough. Poor thing, she had enough a long time ago. I can’t make my cousin a better person, but I can do something to stop the daily cruelties he inflicts on her. And you’re right—he was an unpleasant, jealous adolescent, but over the years I believe something has happened to his mind.”

  “I still say the type of hate he exhibits can be dangerous.”

  James leaned over and placed his hand at the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. He kissed her gently. “I’ll take care, I promise.”

  ***

  “Do you have reason to feel the accommodations are less than adequate, Derrick?”

  James and his cousin sat in the parlor of Derrick’s newly-rented townhouse, facing each other in formal wingback chairs which were positioned in front of a window overlooking the street. Though small, the parlor was well-appointed, and James found it warm and inviting. Unfortunately, his host was not.

  Derrick, sipping a brandy, said, “Compared to the wealth you now control, I find this a paltry offering. So yes, to that question.”

  “What am I not doing for you?” James, hands folded in his lap, had not been offered libation. He decided not to question whether it was bad manners or a slight. It mattered little either way.

  “Should I go down the list?”

  James kept his irritation fully masked. “Please do,” he drawled.

  “Let’s not even discuss the townhouse itself—though it’s clearly basic in every way—or the two servants you’ve allotted me. But its location? You’ve placed me in the slums.”

  “Not slums, certainly.”

  “Close enough. There’s poverty less than a stone’s throw beyond my door.” Derrick’s nose was pinched in disgust. “Most offensive.”

  “What else?”

  “My clothing allowance does not afford a decent tailor. The shop you chose is not competent. As to that, my allowance in general is rather puny.”

  “I see. And?”

  “You gave me a horse.”

  “One of the best in my stable.”

  “But I want a carriage!” The young man’s voice was peevish, almost shrill. “What good is a horse without a carriage?”

  “I think you would see the value of a horse if you were required to walk or hire a hack whenever you wanted to go somewhere. Not having a horse would keep you tied to the city—unless, of course, you enjoy traveling in a crowded stagecoach.” James initial irritation had turned to amusement and utter disbelief at his cousin’s lack of gratitude. “Is there anything else?”

  “I’d like a phaeton but I don’t expect that, naturally.”

  “Naturally. So let’s see, the housing is inadequate, as is your allowance, especially for clothing, you need more servants—and you want a phaeton.”

  “I said I didn’t expect that,” Derrick muttered, attitude turning from ungracious to sullen.

  “I do appreciate your reasonableness, I really do.” James was struggling not to laugh outright. “Now, let me explain, Derrick, where you and I stand with one another. I have done all I’m willing to do for you. And I use the word willing grudgingly. What I do I do because of Aunt Henry. If not for her, you would find yourself on the street.”

  Derrick bounced to his feet. “I’m family! Don’t you care what happens to me?”

  “I used to—before you tried to destroy my marriage. Before you made your mother cry every day.” James came to his feet as well. “What the hell is the matter with you, man? Have you no sense at all?”

  “You can’t just throw me aside like so much rubbish.”

  “Actually, I can—”

  Derrick began to splutter unintelligibly, his face a mottled red.

  “—and I will do so if you cause any more trouble. And Derrick?” James leaned forward and grabbed his cousin by the collar of his shirt. “I want you to stay away from Aunt Henry unless you have permission from me. I will be overseeing your visits with her.”

  The younger man clutched at the hand trussing up his throat as he fought to free himself. “You think to keep me from my own mother?” he gasped.

  “You have hurt her enough. It ends now.”

  “She’ll never accept your interference!”

  James dropped his hand, and Derrick staggered away from him.

  “You would be surprise how your mother feels.” The disgust that filled him also filled his voice. “Understand me, Derrick, this is not a request. If you disobey me, I will turn you out without so much as a sou.”

  “You won’t get away with this!” Derrick bit back as he rubbed at his throat.

  James didn’t bother to answer him. He moved into the foyer to the front door, accepting his hat and cane from a wide-eyed male servant who ushered him outside. A scream of rage echoed through the bottom floor and, as the door was closing, he heard what sounded like a brandy glass being dashed against the stone facade of the fireplace.

  He stood on the walk in front of the townhouse, assessing the condition of the neighborhood. The adjacent homes were modest, well-kept not shabby, not even vaguely implying poverty. Those pedestrians on the street were stylish, not wealthy perhaps but suitably outfitted. There were no beggars, no ladies of ill-repute, all in all a respectable place to live.

  James sighed as he started down the walk to his carriage, signaling the driver to open the door for him. Derrick wanted to live the life of an affluent man. He wanted the cache that came with having and spending money. The saddest part of all was that James would have been happy to share with his cousin, to provide him not only with a wealthy lifestyle now but a bank account that would ensure his future, open opportunities for his marital hopes. But his cousin had chosen resentment and discontent over loyalty and cooperation. Thus when it came down to it, he had no desire to help Derrick live more affluently, to find a wife. As to that, he’d pity the unfortunate woman who would be tied to him.

  As James stepped up into the carriage, he glanced back at the townhouse. Derrick stood at the window, staring out at him. He couldn’t see the younger man’s expression, but his stance was obvious even at that distance and through a pane of glass. The hatred he sensed, coming from that small parlor, was unnerving.

  For the first time, James wondered if he had underestimated Derrick’s anger. Because it had always seemed to him to be so immature and irrational, he had brushed it aside. But now…maybe he should have paid more attention.

  ***

  Amanda despised mourning black and the crape that trimmed every garment she was forced to wear. She had worn it when her mother died, and she was wearing it now that Papa had passed. She detested the confinement as well, the total lack of freedom that said she must stay indoors behind closed drapes. If she should venture into the outside world, she must be heavily veiled, and her journey must be considered an accepted reason for doing so, such as Sunday morning services. She loved her father and had no desire to dishonor his memory, b
ut Amanda chafed at the restrictions. Especially since she knew exactly how he had felt about what he called “the foolishness associated with burying the dead.”

  The last ten days since the funeral, James had been deeply involved in seeing to her father’s affairs. He left early every morning and did not return until the dinner hour at night. Archie Campbell’s business dealings were considerably more complicated than his own father’s because the earl had been virtually penniless. Her father, on the other hand, had been rich as Croesus.

  Though James had said little, she suspected he was overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of Archie’s holdings, and—as directed by her father’s will—the taking control of such a vast empire. Unfortunately, it would be weeks before they could return to Lonsdale due to the amount of work that lay before him. Amanda suspected that James was not averse to being wealthy. However, he found the responsibility of managing that wealth intimidating and burdensome. She smiled to herself. Beware of what you wish for…

  Tonight James had not made it home in time for dinner, and she had sat in a very large dining hall, eating alone. The twins had gone back to Lonsdale and, though Aunt Henry had stayed with Amanda to provide companionship, the old lady had been indisposed with a sick headache most of the day.

  Amanda trudged upstairs when she finished eating, feeling abandoned—not a reasonable response perhaps, but an understandable one given her newly-wedded state and the lack of social interaction currently available in the abandoned mansion. Thank goodness for the servants or she would have felt as if she had taken up residence in a tomb.

  She entered her bedchamber since she and James had continued to use her old room. Now she understood why James was reluctant to commandeer his father’s rooms at Lonsdale. In the future she would renovate her father’s suite, and James and she would take up residence there when they were in the city, but for now it was simply too early and seemingly presumptuous to consider.

  She sat down at the dressing table, looking at herself in the mirror. At least if she were fair-haired, there would some contrast to all that depressing black. She took off her gloves, also black, and began pulling the pins from the chignon at the nape of her neck. She had just removed the last one, shaking her hair loose, when a tap at the door caused her to turn around on the bench.

  Her husband stuck his head in the door, and her heart stuttered at it always did when she saw him. Lord, he was handsome! He also looked exhausted.

  “James! I’m positively thrilled to see you.” She stood up, quickly crossed the room to welcome him as he entered the room, and threw her arms around his neck.

  He returned her embrace, hugging her tightly to him. He leaned back from her, a pleased grin spreading across his features. “What have I done to deserve such a delightful greeting?”

  She bit her lip, containing a smile. “Why, ended my boredom, my lord.”

  He laughed. “Bored, are we? Spend the day going over endless documents and ledgers and listening to a veritable army of clerks and bookkeepers all speaking in dry monotones and you’ll discover the true meaning of boredom.”

  “Oh my, that does sound like a fine time. I apologize. Your day was worse than mine.”

  “Indeed.” James sat wearily on the bed and reached for his cravat, loosening it.

  She sat next to him. “Have you eaten?”

  “A meal was brought in for those of us who stayed past the dinner hour, but I can’t remember now what it was.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  His eyes darkened and his expression took on a hungry look of a different kind. “Perhaps.”

  Amanda was shocked by an immediate sexual response, a flooding of sensation in her pelvis that quickened her respiration. She gulped in a tight breath. Her reaction must have been reflected on her face because his attitude went from teasing to deadly serious. She felt her cheeks flush.

  James leaned his shoulder into her and nuzzled her throat, his mouth warm and moist on the sensitive area beneath her ear. “Are we sufficiently recovered from our grief to resume our, ah…romantic pursuits?” he murmured before tickling her earlobe with his tongue.

  Amanda laughed, a sultry trill that surprised her even more than the desire that was swirling through her system. Could she be making that wanton sound? On a sensible level she might be uncertain how to answer his question—should she be recovered enough?—but her body had apparently decided on an unequivocal yes. Besides, he had been more than patient since the funeral, waiting without complaining, not once making her feel pressured to move beyond her sorrow.

  She swallowed. “I believe I am feeling much better.”

  He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “You’re certain?”

  Amanda nodded then smiled. “May I ask a favor first?”

  James brought his palm to her jaw, his thumb gently stroking her bottom lip. “Whatever you desire, sweetheart.”

  “I have been locked inside this great big house since the funeral, and it’s beginning to make me feel batty. Can we walk in the garden for a short while? I love to look at the stars.”

  He came immediately to his feet and finished removing his cravat. “You’ve read my mind. Just so happens I was thinking that I’d like a good walk in the garden.”

  “I just let my hair down. Should I put it back up?”

  “No. It’s just the way I like it,” James said gallantly. “It’s cooled somewhat. You’ll need a shawl.

  Amanda nearly danced across the room to her wardrobe. She retrieved the shawl—black, of course—and swung it across her shoulders as she retraced her steps. James held out his arm and she placed her hand through his crooked elbow. Together they left the room.

  ***

  Autumn was approaching. As James had said, the night air had a chill in it. There was no breeze, however, only a quiet stillness broken by the distant sounds of a busy city. The garden itself still retained some of the lush smell of summer, a floral undercurrent that scented the air. James walked arm in arm with his wife, content to take this short amount of time to make her happy. He had a pleasant immediate future to contemplate. He was in no hurry.

  “Do you remember our first walk together in this garden?” she asked.

  “How could I forget that night?” he said in a husky whisper next to her ear. “I was walking with the most stunning woman I had ever met.”

  Amanda’s answer was to place her hand over his and squeeze. “Aren’t the stars beautiful tonight?” Her lovely throat was exposed as she gazed heavenward. “I wonder why they’re not as bright in the city as in the country.”

  James looked at the sky, but his thoughts were on the beauty of his wife. She hated the black clothing, and he didn’t much care for it, either, but she wore it better than most. “I don’t know, but now you mention it, I believe you’re right.”

  “I can’t wait to return to Lonsdale. I miss the twins. And Uncle Huey.”

  Not in all his life had he ever heard Muriel utter such a statement. He must never forget to appreciate his wife’s generosity. James leaned over and kissed her cheek. “As do I, love, as do I.”

  Amanda stopped abruptly, pulling on his arm. “Did you hear that?”

  He stopped also, going very still. After a moment of absolute silence, he asked, “What did you hear?”

  “Shhh…” Finger to her lips, her eyes glistened in the dark as she glanced back and forth over their surroundings.

  They had wandered in ambling fashion along a winding path almost to the back of the property. There was less light here, and James was at once alert to their vulnerability.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we walked back toward the house,” he said in an undertone. “I didn’t mention to the servants that we were coming outside.”

  Amanda nodded, holding more tightly to his arm.

  An unexpected rustle of foliage brought a squeak of panic from his wife. James was aware of a shadow rising up behind them, but it happened too quickly for him to react. At that same moment, Amanda emitted a cry t
hat died before it was completed. She loosened her hold on him and plummeted toward the ground.

  “Amanda!” James reached for her as she fell, but in the next instant he was delivered a stunning blow to the side of his head.

  He hit the ground as well and lay there too dazed to speak. In an abstract way—where reality takes a bit of a holiday—he wondered why he was still conscious. Two male forms loomed over him, one quite large, one smaller.

  “Well, well,” the small man said. “Here we was coming in to get him, and he comes to us instead.”

  “What d’ya think? Is he out?” asked the larger of the two, peering down into James’s face.

  “His eyes are open. I think he’s still awake. I need to do somethin’ about that.” The small man reared back and kicked James in the ribs.

  James felt a scream rise in his throat, but it came out a tortured grunt instead. If the man was trying to render him unconscious—those abstract thoughts kept coming—why didn’t he simply bash him on the head again. The man kicked at him once more and, in a flash of clarity before the blow struck, James realized this was not about rendering him unconscious. It was about making him suffer. The fear he felt instantly turned to terror as he thought of Amanda.

  James tried to reach for his wife, but his vision had grown gray and spotty, and he was uncertain of her exact location. The blows continued one right after the other, accompanied by maniacal laughter. Pain was no longer an issue as if his brain refused to register it any longer. However, he continued to grunt with each strike that made contact with exposed flesh and bone. Toward the end James pulled his body into a fetal position in a desperate attempt to protect vital organs. And then it didn’t matter anymore as abruptly he ceased to think.

  ***

  Amanda woke into a world that felt topsy-turvy, utterly without reason. She lay on a hard, rough surface, her cheek pressed against what felt like dirt and small pebbles. The earthy smell drifting up her nose suggested she was correct. Where was she? She was immobilized, her body refusing to cooperate with her desire to move. Although she managed to slit open her eyes, her vision was blurred and unfocused.